Victoria Holt - Kirkland Revels

by Kirkland Revels (lit)

  " I have been looking at a plan of the Abbey," I told Mary Jane " I have it with me here. When we have seen the monk in the ruins he has been near one spot and that is close by the entrance to the cellars.

  Let us go there immediately. " 210 if we see the monk, what shall we do?" she asked.

  " I don't think we shall this morning."

  " I'd like to give him a piece of my mind. Gave me a turn. tie did, even though I'm not expecting."

  " I should hope not," I said; and we laughed together, rather nervously, 1 thought, because Mary-Jane realised as well as I did that we were not concerned with a mere practical joker and that there was a sinister implication behind all that had happened. " What we have to do," I told her, " is find out if there is some means of getting from the Abbey ruins into the house. We must remember that a long time ago certain valuables remained hidden for some years and prob ably members of the family too. You see, Mary-Jane, every thing points to the fact that there is a secret entrance."

  Mary-Jane nodded. " It wouldn't surprise me, madam. Why, this house is full of old nooks and crannies. Happen it's there somewhere if we could find it."

  When we reached the ruins I felt slightly breathless with excitement and exertion and Mary-Jane slowed us down a little. " You've got to remember how it is with you, madam."

  I did remember. I was determined to take the utmost care of myself. I thought then: there was never a child in need of as much care as this one; the danger which threatens it makes it so.

  We went along the arcade from buttress to buttress as I had seen the monk do; and we came to what I knew to be the bake house and malt-house. Now we had reached the remains of a spiral staircase which I was sure must lead to the cellars. Having studied my plan so well, I knew that we had been working back towards the house, and this was a part of the ruins which was very likely the nearest to the Revels.

  Warily I descended the stairs ahead of Mary-Jane, and at the bottom of them we came to two passages, both leading in the direction of the house. These had evidently been tunnels, and I felt disappointed that I saw them because they, like the nave and transepts, had only the sky for their roofs.

  However, we each walked along one of these, that half- wall dividing us, and when we had gone about fifty yards they merged into one and we were in what could easily have been a dwelling-place. There were several large chambers, the remains of brick walls showing us where they had been divided. I suspected that this was the place where the valuables had been hidden at the time of the Civil War. In that 211 case there must be some connecting linK with the house. w< had to find it.

  We crossed these chambers and that seemed like the endl of the ruins.

  I could see the Revels now, very close, and 'si knew that the part of it which contained the minstrels' galleryj was immediately opposite us.

  I was excited, yet exasperated,: for it appeared that we could go no farther. ;

  Mary-Jane looked at me helplessly as though to ask what next. But I glanced at my watch and saw that if we did not return to the house we should not be back by the time the church party returned.

  " We'll have to go," I said, " but we'll come again."

  Mary-Jane in her disappointment kicked at several large stones which were propped against a crumbling wall. There was a hollow sound; but the significance of this did not occur to me until later, because my mind was on the conjectures which might arise if it were discovered that I had feigned indisposition in order to visit the ruins.

  " Another time," I went on. " Perhaps to-morrow. But we must go now."

  It was fortunate that we returned to the house when we did, for I had been in my room no more than a few minutes when Mary-Jane came to tell me that Dr. Smith was below and asking for me.

  I went down at once.

  " Catherine," he said, taking my hand in his and looking searchingly into my face, " how are you?"

  " I am well, thank you," I answered.

  " I was disturbed when I saw you were not at church with the others."

  " Oh, I thought it would do me more good not to go today."

  " I see. You merely felt you needed a rest. I was there with my daughter--and took the first opportunity of slipping out."

  " But you would have known if I had been taken ill. Someone would have come for you."

  " It's true I thought it must mean only some slight indisposition.

  Nevertheless I wanted to see you for myself. "

  "How attentive you arel" " But of course I am."

  " Yet I am not really your patient, you know. Jessie Dankwait is coming to the Revels in due course."

  " I shall insist on being at hand." 212 " Come into the winter parlour," I said. " There is a good fire there."

  We went into the parlour which looked charming, for holly decorated the walls, and the scarlet berries were particularly big and plentiful that year.

  " Wasn't that your maid I saw when I arrived?" asked the doctor as we seated ourselves by the fire. " I believe she has a sister who has just had a baby."

  " That is so. Mary-Jane was very excited on the day the child was born. She went to see her, and whom else do you think she saw?"

  He was smiling as though he were very pleased to see me in such good spirits.

  " You'll be surprised," I went on, " when I tell you that Mary-Jane saw the monk."

  " She saw ... the monk!"

  " Yes. I had made her wear one of my cloaks, and she came home by way of the ruins. The monk was there and went through the same performance, beckoning her."

  I heard his deep intake of breath.

  "Indeed!"

  " I have told no one, but you must know, of course, because you suspected that I might be losing my mind, and I do want you to know that I am as balanced as I ever was. And there is something even more wonderful."

  " I am eager to hear it."

  "I have heard from my old home." I told him what my father had told me. He relaxed visibly. Then he leaned for ward and grasped my hand warmly in his.

  " Oh, Catherine," he said fervently, " this is indeed wonderful news.

  Nothing could have pleased me better. "

  " You can imagine how I feel."

  " I certainly can."

  " And now that Mary-Jane has seen the monk ... well, everything is changed since that dreadful day when you told me ..."

  " I have been so anxious ever since. I could not make up my mind whether I had been right to tell you or whether I should have held my peace."

  " I think you were right to tell me. It is better to have these matters brought into the open. You see, I have now been able to clear up all doubts."

  He was suddenly very grave. " But, Catherine, you were saying that Mary-Jane saw the apparition. What does this mean?"

  " That someone is threatening the hie of my child. 1 must 1 discover the identity of that person. At least I know of one | who is involved." j I stopped and he said quickly: "You know of one who is involved?"

  Still I hesitated for it was not easy to tell him that I suspected his daughter.

  But he was insistent and I blurted out: "I'm. sorry, but I have to tell you that Damaris is involved in this."

  He stared at me in horror.

  " She was with me when we returned to the house," I went on. " You will remember that you insisted she should accompany me. We saw the monk and she pretended not to see him."

  " Damaris!" he whispered, as though to himself.

  "There was no doubt that she saw, yet she denied doing so. She must know who this person is who is trying to unnerve me. When she denied that she saw him, I knew at once that she was an accomplice."

  " It can't be true! Why ... why?"

  " I wish I knew. But at least I have made some discoveries in the last few days. The trouble is that it is so difficult to trust anyone."

  " That is a reproach and I believe I deserve it. You must believe me, Catherine, when I tell you that I suffered torment when I discovered there was a Catherine Corder in Worst-
whistle, and her connection with you. I told the Rockwells Sir Matthew and Ruth because I considered it my duty to do so. I only wanted you to go there for a few days for observation. I had made no suggestion that you should go in the ordinary way. I was thinking of what was best for you."

  " It was such a blow when I heard my name mentioned in connection with the place."

  " I know. But ... this is becoming a nightmare. Damaris ... my own daughter ... to have played a part in it. There must be some mistake.

  Have you told anyone of this? "

  " No, not yet."

  " I think I understand your reasoning. The less you say of these matters the easier it will be to catch your enemy. But I am glad you have told me."

  There was a knock on the door and William entered.

  "Mrs. Rockwell-Redvers and Mr. Redvers have arrived. madam."

  So the doctor and I went downstairs together to welcome Hagar and Simon to the Revels.

  That afternoon Simon and I had an opportunity to talk together. The wind was still blowing from the north but the snow had held off.

  The older members of the family were in their rooms resting. I did not know where Ruth and Luke were. Ruth had said that as I felt too unwell for church that morning I ought to rest before tea. I said I would do this, but I was restless in my room and I came out after ten minutes and went along to the winter parlour, where Simon was sitting thoughtfully by the fire.

  He rose delightedly when I entered the room.

  "You've been looking radiant since we arrived," he told me. " The change is remarkable. I'm sure something good has happened. You've discovered something?"

  I felt myself flush with pleasure. Simon's compliments would always be genuine. That was his way--So I knew that I did look radiant.

  I told him about the letter and Mary-Jane's adventure; and how we had gone on a tour of exploration that morning.

  I was thrilled to see the way he received the news of my parentage.

  His face creased into a smile and then he began to laugh.

  " There couldn't be better news for you, could there, Catherine," he said. " As for me ..." He leaned towards me and looked into my face.

  " If you came from a line of raving lunatics I should still say you are the sanest woman I've ever met."

  I laughed with him. I was very happy there in the winter parlour . the two of us sitting by the fire; and I thought:

  If I were not a widow, this might be considered a little improper.

  " You told the doctor?" he said. " You were with him when we arrived."

  ' " Yes, I told him. Like you, he was delighted."

  Simon nodded.

  " And about Mary Jane

  "Yes, I told him that too. But, Simon, I have decided not to tell anyone else ... except your grandmother, of course. I want no one else to know just yet."

  " That's wise," he said. " We don't want to put our monk on his guard, do we? How I wish he would appear at this 215 moment; I should like to come face to face with him. I wonder if there's a chance of his putting in an appearance tonight."

  " Perhaps there are too many people in the house. However, let us hope he does."

  " I'd catch him, I'll guarantee."

  " I believe you would."

  Simon looked down at his hands and I noticed afresh how strong they were. I guessed he was thinking of what he would do to the monk if he caught him.

  " I have a map of the Abbey," I said. " I've been trying to find another way into the house."

  "Any luck?"

  " None at all. I took Mary-Jane down to the ruins while the others were at church this morning."

  " I thought you were supposed to be resting."

  " I didn't say so. I merely said I wished to stay at home. The rest was presumed."

  " The deceit of a woman!" he mocked me; and I was so happy in this friendship between us. " Now tell me," he went on, " what have you discovered?"

  " Nothing for certain, but I believe it possible that some connecting passage exists."

  " Why are you so sure?"

  " Because of the way in which the monk appeared both in the house and in the Abbey ruins. He would have to keep his costume somewhere. Then he disappeared so neatly on the first night I saw him. I believe he has an accomplice."

  " Damaris," he said.

  I nodded.

  "Who might play the monk on certain occasions."

  " It's possible."

  " I have a suspicion that the way into this hiding-place is in the minstrels' gallery."

  " Why?"

  " Because that's the only place into which he could have disappeared on that first night."

  "Good God!" he cried.

  "That's true."

  " I feel certain that there is some way out of the house in the gallery there."

  " Could there be ... and the household know nothing about it?"

  " Why not? The Roundheads lived here for some years and they didn't find it."

  What are we waiting for? " asked Simon.

  He rose and together we made our way to the minstrels' gallery.

  The gallery had always seemed an uncanny place because it was so dark.

  There were no windows up there, and the only light came from the hall.

  Heavy curtains hung on either side of the balcony. In the past the idea must have been for the musicians who played there to be heard and sometimes not seen.

  On this afternoon it was dismal and eerie.

  It was not large. It would hold an orchestra of ten men perhaps, but they would have been somewhat cramped. The back wall was hung with tapestry which had clearly not been moved for years. Simon went round tapping the walls, bui he could only do so through the tapestry, which was not very helpful.

  At one spot he found that the tapestry could be pulled aside, and my excitement was great when behind this we discovered a door. I held the tapestry back while he opened it, but it was only an empty cupboard which smelt damp and musty.

  " He could have hidden in this cupboard until th^ hue and cry was over," said Simon, closing the door.

  " But he came from the second floor."

  "You mean Luke?"

  " Well ... I was thinking of Luke," I answered, letting the tapestry fall into place.

  " H'm 1" murmured Simon. ^ There was a sudden movement behind us; we had had our backs to the door which led into the gallery, and we turned like two guilty people.

  " Hallo," said Luke. " I thought the ghosts of the minstrels had returned to haunt us when I heard voices in here."

  I fervently wished then that I could have Seen his face.

  " This gallery's not used enough," said Simon. " It reeks of age."

  " It could scarcely accommodate a modem orchestra. At the last ball we gave we had the players on the dais in the hall."

  " So much more effective to have them in the gallery," I heard myself say.

  " Yes, playing the harpsichord or the sackbut or psaltery ... or whatever they did play in the dim and distant past." Luke's voice sounded mocking. I thought: This morning he 217 found me in the library. This afternoon it is the minstrels'1! gallery. | We all came out on to the stairs and Luke returned with | us to the winter parlour. l There we sat by the fire idly talking together, but I felt ; that there was a wariness among us of which each of us was conscious.

  Dinner that evening was to be served in the hall, for even though we were still in mourning Christmas was Christmas. and for centuries Christmas dinner had been eaten there.

  The long refectory table had been dressed with taste. At intervals candles burned in candlesticks of pewter, shining a light on the gleaming cutlery and glass on the table, and sprigs of holly were strewn on the huge lace tablecloth. It would have seemed impossible not to be festive at such a table. Candles burned in their sconces on the walls and I had never seen the hall so brightly lighted. As I came down the stairs I thought: This is how it must have looked a hundred years ago.

  I was wearing a loose tea gown of mole-col
oured velvet with wide hanging sleeves which fell back from the elbows, and ruffles of lime-green lace at the neck. I had sent to Harrogate for it, and I felt I could not have had anything more suitable for my condition and this occasion.

  It was the custom, Ruth had told me, to exchange gifts at the dinner table and I saw that brightly coloured packages were piled up at various places on the table. I saw that our names had been written on pieces of parchment and set in the places we were to take. We were fairly widely spaced at such a large table for there were only seven of us to dine, although after dinner several people would call on us, as Sir Matthew had said, to take wine. I knew that among these people would be Dr. Smith and Damaris, and Mr. and Mrs. Cart- wright and some members of their family.